


A Treasure No Thief Can Touch

by InNovaFertAnimus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Pirate, I Don't Even Know, Multi, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNovaFertAnimus/pseuds/InNovaFertAnimus
Summary: Gaby huffs, dissatisfied, as she inspects the last of the cabins. Yes, they would make more than enough money, but that’s not quite what Gaby wanted. It’s odd, really. She trusts Waverly’s information.There has to be something she is missing.Gaby isn't afraid to go after other pirates' treasures, but maybe this time she bit off more than she can chew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orockthro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orockthro/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Orockthro! 
> 
> I saw the prompt and I knew I had to take it :D I hope you'll like it!
> 
> Thanks to my (equally anonymous) beta!

“These are the last of them, Captain.”

Gaby only glances at the assembled passengers on deck. They are more or less what she expected. Some noblemen nearly pissing their pants, their guards and some unlucky members of their staff, and the actual crew.

They took the ship rather quickly with no casualties on either side. The guards recognized them as soon as they were in sight, half of them surrendering at once. Building up a reputation has proven to be useful after all.

Gaby nods to her first mate, turning toward the door leading into the belly of the ship.

“Then let’s have a look at what’s so precious to our dear Oleg that he doesn’t want to share.”

Leaving some members to keep their current captives in check, she throws open the door and gestures the rest of her crew to follow her inside.

It’s clear which cabins belong to the noblemen. Going through their belongings, they find the usual trinkets, coins and valuables. It’s good, the raid has definitely paid off, but it’s not what she’s looking for. Well, she doesn’t really know what she’s looking for, but it’s definitely not some ordinary gold rings. Her crew collects everything they can sell off, leaving the rooms half empty, then they comb through the rest of the sleep quarters. They don’t find anything interesting and they can more than afford to leave the meager coins behind, so they do. Their hunt ends soon after that. Gaby huffs, dissatisfied, as she inspects the last of the cabins. Yes, they’ve found more than enough to cover the fee for the tip and let them live quite comfortably for another two months or so afterwards, but that’s not quite what Gaby wanted. It’s odd, really. She trusts Waverly’s information.

There has to be something she’s missing.

Leaving her crew to gather everything, she returns to the deck.

The passengers are huddled on their knees in one corner, guarded by a handful of her people. One of them has to know something. She’s staring at them one by one, looking for a tell, when a pair of blue eyes meet hers dead on. They belong to a man only a few years older than her. Dark hair, well-made clothes. His face is familiar, although she’s sure she’s never met him.

His eyes widen just a fraction as he raises his brows at her. There’s a small fleck of brown in his right iris. It hits her like a slap.

She grabs him by the collar to pull him up to his feet and drags him away from the rest of the passengers. He doesn’t resist. He just plays along and stumbles after her when she pulls him into the interior of the ship. As soon as she’s inside, she lets go and shoves him to the wooden wall behind him.

“Napoleon Solo, isn’t it?”

A faint smirk plays around Solo’s mouth. “I’m honored to think that you’ve heard of me.”

Gaby tries hard not to roll her eyes. She needs to stay sharp.

“What is Sanders’ favorite traitor doing on a trading ship bound for his competitor?”

Slowly he reaches behind himself, slowly enough to communicate his actions, and pulls out a dagger. Gaby’s dagger to be precise. Gaby stands her ground unflinchingly. Solo is smart enough not to attack her when her crew is controlling the ship.

She is right, of course. Solo simply holds it out to her, handle first.

“I’m not working for Sanders.”

She takes it back from him, the handle comfortingly familiar in her hand.

“Since when?”

“I think paying Waverly to forward the information about this ship for you made it official.”

Gaby hums. She should probably have a few words with Waverly the next time she’s in town.

“Has Sanders gotten that note yet?”

His jaw twitches barely noticeable.

“I don’t think that’s my concern anymore.”

So that’s a ‘no’, then.

Gaby scoffs but she doesn’t put her dagger away. Solo has made quite a few enemies with his particular talents. Nobody who makes their living doing shady business wants to admit to falling for another’s scheme. She doesn’t plan to be his next victim.

“Fine, then tell me what you are doing on this ship.”

His smirk fades. He’s glancing towards the door, too long to be subtle. She doesn’t know if he’s looking for the next exit or checks if anyone listens in on them.

“I want to propose a deal.”

Tilting her head, she looks at him curiously. “What kind of deal is that supposed to be, if I can simply throw you overboard if I don’t like it?”

“The one where you get both the hidden treasure and a new asset for your crew.”

Gaby already knows where this is going. “And that asset is you.”

Solo doesn’t object, waiting for her to make the next move.

The corners of Gaby’s mouth twitch up. “So tell me Mr. Solo, is working for Sanders really so bad that you seek asylum on the _Misfortune_?”

Solo’s posture doesn’t really relax, but the playful glint in his eyes returns.

“I never understood the name of your ship. Not throwing women overboard sounds quite fortunate in my opinion. It makes for better company and the Drowned Queen won’t hunt you down to sink your ship.”

It doesn’t escape Gaby that Solo is avoiding the question.

“And you think Sanders might not dare to come after her.”

From what she’s gathered, Sanders is an absolute bastard, and she still hopes he and Oleg will just off each other so the rest of the world can do business in peace. The fact that Solo is here asking for an out is evidence enough. He’s risking a lot just by proposing it. Gaby doesn’t like Sanders, not in the slightest, but she doesn’t have any particular problem with him, either. Ratting Solo out to him would earn her quite a favor. Simply the passengers telling Sanders that Solo spoke to her in private could get him into trouble.

She considers her options. Making enemies of both Oleg and Sanders at the same time might not be the worst move. She’s sure even if they worked together, they would inadvertently end up sabotaging each other. At least if both are involved, they would have to divide their focus. If she’s really going to steal Oleg’s treasure, she might as well keep Solo with her. Or she could back off now, take the valuables they’ve already gathered and leave the whole issue alone.

But then, she wouldn’t be where she is now if she didn’t take a risk from time to time.

She puts her dagger back into its sheath.

“Assuming I accept your offer, what exactly is my reward for taking you in?”

If Solo were looking for a spot on her ship with no strings attached, she would be stupid not to take him up on that offer. If he’s even half as good as his reputation is, he would be a valuable new member of her crew. Sadly there are indeed considerable strings attached. She needs to know if it’s worth it.

When Solo hesitates for the blink of an eye, she is ready to decline.

“I don’t know what they’re hiding, only where.”

 There are only two things that could be happening here. Either Solo speaks the truth, which might be a first for him, and really needs her to get out or she is walking right into a trap.

Solo seems to pluck that thought right from her head.

“It’s not a trap.  The treasure is supposed to be on a small island not far from here, hidden in a cave. There’s no place for a ship to lie in wait without being seen from miles away.”

That sounds indeed quite good. The _Misfortune_ is not an overly large ship, but wickedly fast. She doesn’t think that any other ship who could catch up to them would stand a chance if it came to a battle.

She studies Solo’s face for a moment. There’s no doubt he could lie and make her believe it and his work is known to be flashy, daring, too risky to be a play. But even though she knows all that, she’s intrigued.

“Let’s see if Napoleon Solo can tell the truth then.”

She doesn’t bother to specify the ‘or else’. If Solo tries to trick her, he will find out soon enough.

 

* * *

 

For now though it looks like Solo is keeping his word. The island is indeed not far and there’s nothing to obscure the view. They leave the _Misfortune_ a bit further out and row towards the island with only a handful people. Gaby’s instructions were clear. If anything suspicious happens, the remaining crew is to make a quick escape, regardless whether or not Gaby is back on the ship by then.  

Gaby leaves them at the entrance of the cave to guard their backs, taking only Solo with her.    

It’s not quite dark inside. Some of the ceiling has caved in, letting in enough natural light for them to see.

A few steps in they are already walking in water. It gets deeper the further they go, but never enough to get in their boots.

A sound echoes through the cave, a quiet splash of something from deep within. Gaby draws one of her pistols. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Solo’s hand twitching to his side, indicating one of his hidden weapons. They wait in silence as the sound continues for a bit longer, getting louder until breaking off completely. There are no voices though. They wait for another few heartbeats before continuing their way.

The passage twists, then the cave opens up wide before them.

There’s a man lying in the water, his shoulders propped up against the rock wall behind him, his hands bound with thick ropes above his head. His long blond hair is unkempt and stained with blood, obscuring most of his face.

This isn’t what makes Gaby freeze on the spot though.

Just above the surface of the water scales start to form on his torso, thickening quickly until no skin is left. The silvery grey coat reaches far down into the water, where she can see a large scaled tail curled loosely against the rocks. No legs. A tail with a fin.

How the hell did Oleg get his hands on a merman?

Just in this moment the merman lifts his head and meets her gaze. The splashes of water almost reach them as he starts to trash against the ropes keeping him in place.

His binds hold.

It takes maybe a minute until he calms down again. Or from the looks of it, he just doesn’t have the strength to keep it up anymore. Still, he keeps on glaring at them.

Gaby draws one of her daggers and hands it to Solo.

“Cut him loose.”

Solo glances at her curiously, then takes the offered dagger.

Carefully he approaches the merman, who eyes him warily, but doesn’t try to move.

It takes only a few cuts for the ropes to give.

As soon as his arms are free, the merman makes a lunge for the dagger. Solo must have seen it coming, because he is quick to simply throw it out of reach towards Gaby, but it doesn’t stop the merman from pulling him down into the water.

Gaby is about to step in, when Solo gets back to his feet with a flourish and knocks the merman back against the wall.

Instead of coming after Solo again, the merman only blinks a few times, swaying to the side.

Solo stops his advance immediately and takes a slow step back. He exchanges a quick glance with Gaby before facing the merman again. One of merman’s hands is pressed against the wall behind him for purchase. His wrists have been rubbed raw, the edges of the wounds already beginning to darken. Gaby doesn’t know how different his upper body is from a human’s, but she knows an infection when she sees one.

The ropes he’d been held with are covered with algae. He must have been here quite some time.

Gaby tucks her pistol away and approaches slowly.

The merman’s eyes follow her, but barely, his focus on her shaky at best.

Raising both hands in front of her, Gaby passes Solo to get even closer, but stops when the merman tries leaning away.

“Can you understand us?”

The merman hesitates a moment before nodding.

At least there’s something to make this easier.

“Getting you back into the ocean will help, right?”

While she is fairly sure that most of the legends around merpeople are just that, they have to come from somewhere. His brows furrow, but he nods again.

Gaby can work with that.

“We’re not with Oleg. Let’s get you out of here, before he comes looking for you.”

She chooses to omit that they came to steal him. That plan was thrown out as soon as she knew what they were dealing with anyway. She can see the thoughts racing behind the merman’s eyes. She wouldn’t trust their word either if she was in his place, but what choice does he have?

Solo waits for the merman to come to the same conclusion before he approaches again. This time it doesn’t end in a fight.

Solo half-carries half-drags him out of the cave. They leave a trail of dull scales in their wake.

Gaby motions for her crew on the beach not to come near as they cross the narrow strip of sand to the water. She hears their whispering, but she can’t blame them.  

The sun is still beating down on them, forcing the merman to shield his face with his arms. Gaby wonders how long exactly he was kept in there, how long it would have continued.

Solo is careful as he lowers the merman into the water.

The water hasn’t even reached his face when he starts to cough violently, water and blood bubbling from his lips. His hands claw into Solo’s jacket, trying to pull himself up but lacking the strength. With a soft curse Solo yanks him up again.

The water washed away most of the old blood that spilled down the merman’s neck only to be replaced by new bright red. Solo notices it as well and carefully tilts the merman’s head to the side to take a better look at the injury.

It’s his gills. Two deep cuts run right through them, crossing neatly in the center. It looks like they really wanted to make sure he couldn’t leave even if he got out of his bonds.

Gaby kneels down next to them in the water. The merman’s eyes follow her wearily. His breath is still ragged. She’s slow to reach out, letting the merman pull away, if he wants to. He doesn’t, or maybe he is just too weak. She can feel warmth radiating from his forehead when she carefully tucks one long strand of hair behind his ear and briefly wonders how warm he’s supposed to feel if he dwells in the ocean.

“Can you turn?”

The merman scowls at her, but his glare isn’t that impressive when he has trouble even focusing on her.

That’s not a ‘no’ at least.

“Either you turn so we can take you with us or you stay on this island to wait for Oleg or death, whichever comes for you first.”

The merman holds her gaze for a little longer before he looks away. His grip on Solo tightens subtly, then it happens.

It takes only a few moments and Gaby wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. The merman’s tail splits at the bottom, the remaining scales melt together and change color until only human skin remains. Solo shrugs out of his jacket to cover his new human form while Gaby is still too busy by watching the end of his tail curl itself together and part into toes to even think about it.

The transformation is flawless. Gaby has to keep herself from touching one of his feet to feel if they’re as real as they look. There are a few sores where he’d lost too many scales, but apart from that the merman’s new pair of legs looks completely ordinary. The gills on the side of his neck are gone, too. The wounds remain though. 

On cue the merman’s eyes roll back into his head and he goes limp in Solo’s hold.

Solo raises one hand to the merman’s forehead.

“He’s burning up.”

Gaby nods, gesturing for her crew to get the boats ready.

“Let’s get him aboard.”

She watches as Solo carefully lifts the merman up to carry him to one of the rowboats.

When she bought information on a ship with good loot, she didn’t expect the loot in question to be a merman and the lightest-fingered liar in the seven seas.

She’s _really_ going to have words with Waverly.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s something on his chest, scratchy and warm. Too warm. His skin feels tight, rough. His head hurts and there’s a weird taste in his mouth that somehow won’t wash out. It feels like he’s drying up, but only in his mouth. He is …thirsty? He isn’t quite sure. After he knew how to change, he never spent much time in this form, so his grasp of body functions is a bit shaky.

It takes him a moment to figure out what this means.

He’s turned.

Illya tries to open his eyes, but it’s harder than it should be. There’s something crusty in the corners which is both surprising and disgusting. He wants to reach up to wipe it away, but his hands hurt. His wrists feel achingly hot. He doesn’t want to move them. He turns his head to the side, concetrating on opening his eyes first. It still takes a long time until he even manages to blink. His vision is distorted and for a moment he wonders if that's because of the air around him as well, but that doesn't really make sense. He blinks again and it gets a little better.

He’s lying somewhere inside. There are walls made of wood and it feels like the ground is moving a little, so he thinks he’s on a ship again. He doesn’t remember much from last time, except that it was bad. But he’s not in the cave anymore, which is good.

It still doesn’t explain his legs. They can’t force him to turn, but he did anyway.

And he’s thirsty. And everything feels hot, especially his wrists.

There’s something moving into his field of vision. Someone. He can see a rich green coat and well-made trousers, but somehow he can’t turn his head a second time to look up at the human.

Maybe they’ve poisoned him, so he’s easier to handle. Illya tries to take hold of the rage welling up inside him, tries to draw strength from it, but the room just starts to spin. He squeezes his eyes shut to make it stop, although he knows he needs to keep track of the humans around him.

Something touches his forehead. He can’t help but flinch.

“Relax.”

The voice is female, vaguely familiar. Illya concentrates, but he can’t quite place it and it only makes his head hurt worse.

“The fever’s coming down a bit. Here.”

Something presses softly against his lips. Illya forces his eyes open again to see it’s some kind of mug, a clear liquid inside.

He shouldn’t take it. He shouldn’t take anything from humans. He knows that, but his thirst wins out.

The woman tips the mug towards him and the liquid trickles into his mouth. It feels like water, but it doesn’t taste salty, so he's not sure what it is, but at least it feels good going down, washing away the bad taste and soothing the roughness of his throat. It’s empty too soon.

Illya manages to turn his head so he can look up at her.

Her eyes are deep brown, just like the hair tied back from her face. She has a commanding presence, making her even features almost look regal.

She reaches towards him slowly but surely and this time he doesn’t flinch.

Her fingers are pleasantly cool as they trace over his temple.

“Sleep.”

To his surpise, he does.

 

* * *

 

The next time waking up is easier. There’s still weird crusting in the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t feel as dizzy anymore. He’s on a ship. The woman and her companion have helped him to get away from Oleg. Maybe they’re just trying to sell him for their own profit, he can’t be sure about that. Still, there are no restrains on him, only bandages. His fingers glide over the ones on his neck and winces.  Maybe letting it heal in his human form isn’t a bad idea. Gills are not as easy to heal as skin.

He sits up carefully. The piece of cloth spread over him falls into his lap. He’s wearing some kind of shirt. Pushing the cloth further down, he sees his legs are covered, too.

Someone must have dressed him. It feels strange on his skin.

Everything feels strange, really. This is why he never turns.

His hair is one giant mess falling down his back, tangled and so heavy he can feel it pulling at the skin of his head. He tries combing his fingers through it with no success. Cutting it off is probably the only reasonable thing left to do with it.

He glances around the room. He has no idea what most of the things are.

There’s some kind of bowl on a big wooden box, something shiny right beside it. It’s made out of metal and one edge looks sharp. It will have to do.

He looks down at his feet. The only problem is getting there.

He carefully lowers his feet to the ground from the platform he’s on. He flexes his toes once, then pushes himself up.

Straightening his legs, he manages to stand for a moment before the ship tilts to the side. The quick step he does to compensate somehow only makes it worse. He’s on the ground before he knows.

His toes wiggle sluggishly as he glares at them. He hates this form and now he remembers why. Crawling is undignified, but Illya doesn’t see how he can manage to walk there. At least there’s no one here to see him.

It’s even more difficult with legs, but he manages. He reaches up the side of the box, carefully feeling around for the blade. It’s as sharp as it looked, nicking one of his fingers before they can find the handle.

This will do fine.

He hacks away at his hair with no further delay. Blonde clumps fall around him to the ground, too tangled to spread far. His head feels lighter already.

A loud knock sounds against the wood from the other side. Gripping the blade tighter, he faces the wall where it comes from. Just a few moments later a panel of the wood swings back, revealing the man who dragged Illya out of the cave.

His eyes fall shortly on the empty platform before they find Illya.

“You’re up.”

Illya scoffs. He doesn’t think ‘being up’ fits him.

The corners of the man’s mouth twitch up.

“I see you’re already trying to assimilate yourself with a bad haircut.”

He walks over to him, kicking away a clump of hair in his path.

“As much as I admire your intention, I don’t think a razor is the right tool for that.”

He holds out his hand, waiting for Illya to give him the blade.

Illya glances down at it. A razor. He doesn’t want to give up the weapon, but realistically he knows he can’t fight like this. He can try, but being stuck with legs he has no idea how to use makes it futile. Observing the man in front of him, who is still waiting for Illya to hand over the razor, he knows that it wouldn’t make sense for the man to attack him now. If they wanted him dead, he already would be. If they wanted to use him, he would be bound. He figures he’s safe enough for now.

The razor changes hands and Illya doesn’t get slashed. It’s a nice change. His fingers twitch, but he keeps them from reaching up to his neck.

Of course the man notices anyway. He taps the side of his own neck once. Illya already doesn’t like him.

“That must have hurt quite a lot.”

It had. It’s one of the last memories he has before they’ve hit his temple with something heavy. Everything afterwards is hazy.

The man looks around the room, before turning back to him with raised brows.

“Is there a reason you’re sitting on the floor? You do know what chairs are, right?”

Illya doesn’t, but that’s not the point.

He glares at the man. “Your floor tripped me.” He doesn’t think those words were right, but he doesn’t care. His own voice sounds strange in his ears above water and in the other tongue.

The man just smirks at him.

“So you can talk.”

Illya clamps his mouth shut.

It doesn’t discourage the man from continuing.

“You can call me Solo.”

Illya hasn’t quite decided what to call him, but _Solo_ is rather at the bottom of the list.

At least this Solo is smart enough not to expect Illya to give his name.

Solo waves his hand at the hair on the ground. “You’ve done quite a job on this. Let me fix it for you?”

Illya shrugs, which is enough approval for Solo apparently.

The man reaches towards another wooden box and pulls a part of the front out. Reaching into it, he pulls out something looking like two knives stuck together with odd loops on their handles.

“Scissors. In case you were wondering.”

Illya doesn’t know if he’s obvious or if the man is just annoyingly observant. Maybe both.

Solo holds them out.

“I guess you don’t have them in the deep.”

Illya wants to correct him, he doesn’t dwell that deep in the ocean, but the less they know about his kind the better. He lets himself forget about it as he looks at the scissors curiously. The sharp edges are turned inward, so they would only cut what’s in-between them. Seems impractical for a weapon, although Illya could probably still stab someone with them if he tried. Solo takes it back and sticks his fingers through the loops. He can’t follow them anymore, when Solo steps around him, but the swishing sound close to his ear and his hair falling down beside him clue him in how it’s used. Interesting.

Solo works quickly and smoothly, his fingers running through Illya’s hair as he cuts away the tangled strands.

“You’ve been out for three days. The wounds on your wrists were infected, but we had something for that.”

Illya doesn’t respond, not really knowing what to do with the information. He’s made it outside the cave and Oleg hasn’t caught up to him so far. This is good news. It doesn’t answer the question what they’re planning to do with him on this ship though.

His hair gets shorter and shorter and it feels strange, but not bad.

It’s done just a few minutes later. Solo puts the scissors on top of the box where Illya found the blade… razor, then reaches down, holding out his hand. Illya looks at it questioningly. There’s nothing else Illya can give him. Solo tilts his head once more. “So you’ve made peace with the floor and can get back to the bed on your own?”

Illya stares at the offered hand, then at his legs. He’s been carried enough to last his life time.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes himself up. First against the floor, so he can get his feet back under him, then he pulls himself up with the help of the box. Both the box and the floor sway dangerously. Illya tightens his grip on the edge and somehow stays on his feet.

He’s delighted to find out that he’s taller in his human form than Solo. Looking down at the other man, he allows himself to feel at least a little smug about it.

“Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”

Solo raises his hands in defeat and steps away, but he still looks amused.

“Alright, suit yourself. I’ll tell the captain you’re up and about, then.”

Illya watches him walk towards the panel of the wall where he came in. Opening it, Solo pauses before stepping out, pointing to the platform Illya was lying on before.

“This a bed, by the way.”

Without thinking too much about it, Illya grabs the scissors from the box and throws them after Solo. Throwing things above the surface somehow works a lot differently, so he misses his target by quite a bit. The movement throws him off balance, his hand flying back to the box to steady himself. Solo just smirks at him for a moment, then he’s gone.

Illya curses under his breath, looking at the bed. It’s really not that far, but he’s pretty sure he’s going down again as soon as he lets go. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, then he pushes off. The first step goes well, the second still passable, the third he misses entirely. The bed is near enough, so Illya uses the last of his speed to throw himself the rest of the way on top of it. Luckily the bed is somewhat soft, so it doesn’t hurt.

He exhales in a huff. Not too bad for his second try. It’s exhausting though. His current state doesn’t help. He’s thinking about just sinking back into the bed and pulling the cloth over himself, so that they might miss him when they come back. It’s a bad plan, but he’s tempted to try anyway. 

He’s still thinking about it when the door opens again.

A woman enters, Solo following behind her.

Illya remembers her. As her gaze falls on him, he can’t help but sit a little straighter. When she smiles a little, he thinks it’s because of that.

“I’m glad you feel well enough to throw things after Solo.” She doesn’t look particular angry about it, so Illya thinks she didn’t mind it much.

“I’m Gaby, captain of the _Misfortune_. Do you remember how you got here?”

Captain is the head of the crew, Illya is pretty sure. That would probably make Solo her second-in-command. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown the scissors after all. He’s not particularly sorry though.

He shakes his head to answer her question. He remembers slivers of being dragged outside, then sand, but his memory of the last few days is patchy at best.

Gaby hums in understanding.

“Just know that you are our guest here. We don’t trade in lives.”

Illya nods. He doesn’t really believe her, but at least there’s no evidence to contradict her so far.

She turns around and grabs a large wooden thing with four legs. After dragging it closer she sits down on it, legs parting around a wooden board which she rests her arms on, so maybe it’s this chair thing that Solo talked about.

“Do you know what Oleg wanted with you?”

Illya shakes his head again after a moment. He does know, but he won’t give them any ideas.

The way Gaby looks at him makes him question how well he lied, but if she suspects something, she doesn’t say it. She exhales deeply.

“We need to make up a plan and fast. Oleg will know soon who took you, as will Sanders about you, Solo.  No doubt the passengers of the other ship will spill without even being asked.”

So Solo is also running from something. Illya wouldn’t have suspected it from the way he acts.

Solo steps away from behind Gaby and crosses the room to the box with the bowl, returning the razor to its place.

“I don’t think Oleg will let this slide, and Sanders will be on our tail the moment he finds out why Oleg wants us.” Solo shrugs. “Well, the obvious solution is to get rid of our Peril, here.”

Gaby raises her eyebrows at him.

“And you right along with him, but we don’t want that, do we?”

Solo just mirrors her expression and turns to Illya. “Not what I was suggesting, unless our fishy friend actually came to stay?”

Illya scoffs. He’ll get clear of this boat and the people on it as soon as he can.

“No, but you’re very brash for fugitive.”

Solo’s jaw twitches, but for once doesn’t retort anything as Illya expected.

He doesn’t have the time to think about it further, when Gaby speaks up instead.

“Very brash of you to talk like that without even giving us your name.”

Illya glances down to his lab for a moment. She’s right of course. He could blame it on Solo or even the remaining fever, but he’s acting rude for no reason. “My name is Illya.”

Gaby lets the sliver of indignation slip away just as fast as it had appeared.

“So for now we need to buy ourselves some time, until Illya is ready to leave.”

There’s a short silence before Solo speaks up.

“How far are we from Truce?”

Gaby turns to him curiously. “About a day. You have a plan?”

Solo hums thoughtfully.

“Maybe.”

It looks like that’s the best they have so far.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's totally still January right??? xD I'm sorry this took so long. I'm still on it and I will finish your gift, sorry for the delay :'D

“Are you sure about it this?”

Napoleon really isn’t, but it’s too late for that.

“See you in a few hours, Captain.”

Gaby still doesn’t look very convinced, but she nods. “Alright, good luck.”

He scoffs, smirking down at her.

“When did I ever need luck?”

He can see Gaby rolling her eyes as she turns to leave, but her shoulders are a bit more relaxed. The door falls shut behind her, leaving Napoleon alone at the backdoor of their temporary hide-out that Waverly provided. Napoleon has to say, he couldn’t have chosen a better place than this. He has to give it to Gaby, he already knew she was smart and capable, else he wouldn’t have chosen her for his escape plan, but in the last few days it turns out she is that and more. Maybe with her they could make this actually work. Still, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

Getting off the ship without him and Illya being noticed was difficult enough, having to avoid both Sanders’ and Oleg’s people. The main part of his so-called plan is still ahead of them, though. Napoleon swallows heavily, sinking a bit deeper into the shadows between the dirty buildings. He watches the people walking past on the main road until he sees Gaby again. It begins.

He waits maybe half an hour until he joins the crowds. Truce is just as he remembers, run-down shacks next to palaces, people selling vegetables right next to the prostitutes lining up for an early coin. Despite having spent almost half his life here, Napoleon doesn’t recognize a lot of faces. Truce has always drawn in lots of people, hoping to profit from the trades all the big crews bring in without having to worry about raids, and it always spat them out just as fast. It’s true that there is no open war between the crews in Truce, but no open war is far from peace, especially considering both Sanders and Oleg moved their headquarters here. It comes in handy, most of the time.

He takes a sharp turn left to get into Sanders’ part of the city. The way to Sanders’ ‘office’ is easy to find. The men crowding the entrance of the tavern part for him when they see him.

The only guests inside are two handfuls of Sanders’ men, not even making an effort to conceal their weapons.

So Sanders is in.

Napoleon heads for the stairs. Nobody tries to stop him or even checks him for weapons. They know he won’t try to attack Sanders, because he values his life too much. He hates that they’re right.

He finds Sanders in his armchair, playing cards with three other men Solo knows belong to his inner circle. Still, as soon as Napoleon walks into the room, they get up wordlessly and leave.

Napoleon has done this often enough to know he’s not in the position to break the silence, so he waits. Sanders takes his time, refilling his glass and taking a sip. Turning his head slightly, he lets his eyes travel up and down on Napoleon before he speaks.

“You don’t look like you have something to deliver, Solo.”

Napoleon leans against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Not yet.”

Sanders doesn’t make an effort to hide his annoyance.

“What exactly does that mean?”

Napoleon takes a moment to consider how to present his situation in the best light possible.

“I’ve found the treasure, but the _Misfortune_ found me first.”

The sound of Sanders’ glass on the table rings loud through the relative quiet as he puts it down. A few drops bounce out of it. Napoleon wonders if it was something expensive. He hopes not, although it’s wasted on Sanders anyway.

Despite his show, Sanders’ voice is still the same low rumble.

“I told you to steal what Oleg’s been hiding, not to drag it out for everyone to see, Solo. We have enough trouble with other crews as it is.”

Napoleon can’t keep the corners of his mouth from twitching up.

“Well, you can’t exactly steal a merman.”

Sanders’ eyebrows shoot up for the blink of an eye. This is probably the most surprised Napoleon has ever seen him.

“Then how do you think you can get him?”

“She’s meeting with Oleg to bargain today. I’ll intercept the exchange.”

Sanders scoffs.

“And she would just tell you the specifics of that exchange, if you ask her nicely.”

Napoleon has hoped Sanders wouldn’t question him too much, but it seems the prospect of actually taking a hit at Oleg made him more interested in the details than usual.

“The merman complicated things, but I have it under control. She trusts me because she thinks I’m betraying you.”

“A double-cross is not enough to deal with her.”

This is what he hates most about Sanders. Somehow Sanders expects him to handle everything and at the same time treats him like he’s going to fail anyway. Sanders probably knows this and does it on purpose.

Napoleon tries not to let it show in his voice.

“She’s in town with me and I’m working on it.”

The small silence before Sanders huffs with a hint of amusement tells Napoleon he took it as intended.

“I’m sure you are. Sometimes I wonder if it would make even a difference in profit if I just whored you out.”

Napoleon doesn’t answer and waits.

He watches Sanders think about it for a few moments, then Sanders waves him away.

“Go. You have two weeks.”                                        

Napoleon nods courtly and slips out of the room, not bothering to say anything in response. Either this works and this is hopefully the last time he has to see him, or it doesn’t and a missed ‘thank you, sir’ is the least of his problems.

When he steps back onto the streets, he spots a boy following him instantly. Napoleon tries not to make it too obvious that he makes sure the boy can follow him. This time when he enters their hideout, he doesn't use the back door.

Gaby is already at the bar, sipping on some clear liquor. The boy hovers in the door, not very inconspicuous, really. Napoleon takes the empty bar stool next to Gaby and throws him a look over his shoulder. He scrambles out instantly, hopefully reporting back to Sanders that he is in fact in town with Gaby. The more facts they can prove in their lie, the better.

A few moments of silence pass between them before Gaby glances at him, picking up her glass to play with it.

“Did he buy it?”

“I think so. You?”

She closes her eyes briefly.

“Oleg offered me so much gold I actually considered dropping the story and trading both of you in.” She drinks deep. Napoleon doesn’t recognize the smell, but it has to burn going down. Gaby doesn’t even make a face. “Never lost so much money in one day.”

Solo feels a weight fall off his shoulders. He knows the stories about Gaby, how she’s fearless and values life above all else. There was no evidence he could find against it, not even on the _Misfortune_ itself. He’s talked to her crew, the women she’s fished out of the sea who decided to stay. Most importantly, he’s talked to her, watched how she handles people, handles a disgruntled merman. Napoleon isn’t one to trust people, he’s learned that the hard way, but relying on Gaby isn’t too bad for once.

Gaby throws her head back and empties her drink. Laughing voicelessly, she signals the barman for a refill.

“He’ll double it, if I can chase you down in less than a month. It’s ridiculous. How much is a merman worth anyway?”

Napoleon knows she doesn’t really want an answer to that, but he’s been wondering as well. You can sell merpeople flesh for ridiculously high prices or maybe some weird collector would pay a fortune for a merpet, but that doesn’t explain the state they found Illya in. It looked like they wanted to wear him down, until he either gave in or died. There has to be something about Illya they don’t know.

“Where is Peril?”

“In our room.” She downs her glass again, then clears her throat. “He doesn’t know how drinking works.”

Napoleon can’t help but smirk. Illya has picked up a lot in the short time he’s awake, but he’s still far from passing as a human, much less a pirate.

She loudly slaps the table, getting the attention of the man behind the bar. “How much to take the bottle with me?”

Napoleon watches as Gaby pays, probably way too much, then takes the bottle. He’s prepared to catch her as she gets up from the bar stool, but she doesn’t even waver once.

Following Gaby up the stairs, Napoleon checks once again for a tail among the other guests, but there’s nobody new since they arrived, nobody even looks at them. Napoleon doesn’t know how Waverly manages to keep up such hide-outs, but he’s glad that he does. It also helps that he can’t say no to an enraged pirate queen for knowingly selling her false information.

There are only a few rooms upstairs, all empty except theirs. Two of Gaby’s crew wait in front of their door, nodding at them as they walk in.

Illya is on a chair this time, playing with his latest acquired ‘weapon’, a fork he stole from their lunch table.

He’s sitting backwards like Gaby did. Neither Gaby nor Napoleon have bothered to explain chairs properly yet, it seems.

A rhythmic thumping starts in the tavern below their feet. It startles Illya, whose hand tightens on his fork, ready to stab someone with it. it's adorable in a way. 

More and more people join in, their voices muffled through the wooden floor.

Gaby leaves the bottle on the desk with a twirl, stopping in front of Illya and holding out her hands.

“Come on, we’re dancing.”

Illya still looks more than skeptical, but accepts Gaby’s hands. Napoleon can see that he’s trying not to use much of her help to steady him as he stands up. He’s towering over Gaby, making her look ridiculously small next to him.

When he stands with relatively sure footing, she starts swaying in front of him, moving his hands with hers from side to side. Illya looks downright bewildered. It’s definitely the funniest thing Napoleon has seen in his entire life. Maybe Gaby is a lot more drunk than she’s letting on.

Napoleon recognizes the song in the moment Gaby throws their hands up for the spin. He’s just quick enough to reach out to Illya so he won’t actually fall over.

Gaby spins on twice on her own, her feet taking her over to where she left her glass next to the bed.

“Still no drink?”

Illya frowns a bit and shakes his head.

His frown doesn’t last long as Gaby continues to dance around them while Napoleon lowers Illya back onto the chair, sitting in the right direction for once. Illya seems a bit confused about that, but doesn’t ask about it.

The song downstairs ends with an especially loud stomp, vibrating through the floor as the people downstairs start to laugh.  

With a sigh Gaby empties her glass and throws herself on the bed, burying her head in the pillows.

“We need to teach you how to have fun. Don’t merpeople have fun?”

“We do. Making ships crash against rocks is fun.”

Gaby’s chuckle is muffled against the pillows.

Napoleon can’t help grinning in return. Who would have thought that Illya does have a sense of humor?

Gaby stretches out on the bed before getting a blanket over herself.

“Get some sleep, boys, and enjoy the feeling of a real bed. We’re going to stay on sea for as long as we can, so you won’t get another chance like this in the foreseeable future. I’m not letting Sanders or Oleg get their hands on my treasures.” She winks at them, before shimmying down deeper into the covers.

Napoleon thinks Illya looks at her almost fondly, before his eyebrows draw together, looking at Napoleon suspiciously.

For all Illya mutters about how stupid their language is, he has quite a good grasp at the details.

Napoleon grabs Gaby’s abandoned glass with mild protest from the bed and pours himself a drink. It would have come up either way, so Napoleon doesn’t think lying will help him much, not if he wants to stay on Gaby’s ship after all this is over.

“Sanders bought my debt, or so they called it when they confuse borrowing with stealing, so I’m technically his property until I’ve paid it off. I was betrayed, small town, they didn’t even know who I was.”

He exchanges a glance with Gaby. There were enough rumors about his sudden appearance in Sanders’ crew, but Sanders was careful not to confirm anything. The more rumors there are, the more stories Napoleon can make believable.

“I would have five years left, but I know Sanders keeps adding on to it. I don’t think he intends to let me go.”

Gaby turns in the bed, now on her other side facing away from them.

“Then it’s a good thing I stole you. Sanders can go cry with the seagulls and we can go to sleep.”

Napoleon huffs, almost amused.

“Technically, I let you steal me to steal Peril.”

She yawns, burying herself deeper into the pillows.

“Details, details. Sleep, both of you.”

Downing the content of his glass in one go, Napoleon slips out of his shoes.

“Well, who am I do deny my mistress?”

Napoleon slips out of his shoes and slips into the other side of the bed.

Only when he’s comfortably lying on his back does he notice that Illya hasn’t moved an inch.

“You coming?”

Illya looks at him, at Gaby, back at him, his scowl still firmly in place.

“It’s not right.”

Napoleon knows this is not about their close sleeping quarters. With a deep exhale he pulls up the blanket to his chin.

“Well, Peril, sometimes you don’t get what’s right.”

Illya’s retort is cut off by Gaby.

“Why do you call him Peril?”

Napoleon glances over at Gaby, glad for the change of topic. He’s not in the mood to get into morality discussion with a merman.

“He likes sharp things.”

Gaby’s snicker fades out softly, her breath deepening. When Illya still doesn’t move from his spot, Napoleon decides to just roll over and close his eyes.

He doesn’t really sleep at first, just dozing and his mind slowly trying to figure out if he knows the songs from downstairs or not, when he feels another weight settle on the mattress. It looks like Illya finally got the hang of walking on his own.

Napoleon offers him a piece of the blanket without opening his eyes. He hears a low scoff, but at the same time the blanket is tugged further away from Napoleon. With a light frown Napoleon lets it go, turning to his other side to steal a part of the blanket Gaby claimed. Her soft snores don’t falter as he slips under partway. The new arrangement leaves a bit of his chest and stomach uncovered, but between the two people in the bed it’s still comfortably warm.

He turns to Illya. From the look on his face, he didn’t think that Napoleon was still awake.

Napoleon hums sleepily.

“Don’t worry Peril, there isn’t much dancing on the ship.”

He hears Illya say something in return, but his head refuses to make sense of it.

For a moment he wonders if Illya took the fork with him to bed before he drops off.

 

* * *

 

Somehow they make it back to the ship without incident. A few crewmembers came to fetch them one by one. As they expected, both Oleg and Sanders have sent people over to the _Misfortune_ , trying to prove their story wrong and probably looking for traces of Illya.

The breeze coming from the ocean is a welcome change to the stench of too many people in one spot.

Maneuvering out of the harbor goes smooth, Gaby’s crew well trained and fresh from their break on land.

Napoleon is content to watch Gaby in her element, commandeering her crew, wind blowing in her hair. She hasn’t given him a particular job on her ship yet and it looks like he’d probably be more in the way than anything if he asked for work now. There’s more than enough time for him to find his spot on her ship. He’s a bit surprised to find that he’s actually looking forward to it.

They left Illya at the bow of the ship where he won’t be run over by the crew. Napoleon looks up to where he’s sitting on a few boxes near the railing, looking out over the sea. There’s something wistful in his eyes. He’s been with them for only a few days now, but they still have no idea how long Oleg had him in captivity. Napoleon never really had a home, so he can’t really miss it, but Illya has the distinct look of someone who wants to go home but can’t. 

Another surprise. Napoleon isn’t really happy to have him out of his hair. He didn’t exactly lie to Sanders on that point. Illya has made this whole thing a lot more complicated. Still, the thought of simply bringing back a chest full of treasures while Illya rots in another cave leaves Napoleon with a bitter aftertaste.

Illya notices his presence then, meeting his gaze. For once he doesn’t look like he’d throw various cutlery at Napoleon. Well, if he did, it probably wouldn’t have kept Napoleon away anyway.

He’s just within speaking distance when a sudden noise goes off above their heads, followed by a rapid series of the same sound.

He’s been on a ship long enough to recognize what it means. Tearing ropes.

Napoleon tackles Illya to the ground without thinking. A loose beam shoots over their head a moment later.

The main sail comes loose, some of the ropes swish like whips in the air, the wooden spar holding the sails up swinging freely. People are already climbing up, trying to catch it before the fabric itself is damaged.

Napoleon notices only then, that he landed half on top of Illya. Propping himself up on his elbows, he gives the merman a little space.

“You alright?”

Illya blinks at him slowly. For a moment Napoleon thinks his eyes are very blue, just like the ocean breaking through chips of ice. When Illya gives him the time to pull back fully without shoving him away, Napoleon wonders if he’s hit his head in the fall. Illya’s grip is strong, though, as Napoleon offers him a hand up.

People are running across the deck to Gaby’s shouted orders when another sail falls. One of the loose ropes doesn’t land too far from them. Napoleon can see that the ends are only frayed at a tiny spot on one side. Not a coincidence then.

His grip tightens on Illya as he pulls him along towards Gaby.

She meets them halfway, stopping at the railing, staring out on the water.

Napoleon follows Gaby’s gaze. There are two ships on the horizon, already close enough that Napoleon can recognize their flags. They are gaining on them fast.

“I don’t think they bought it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Orockthro, as you might notice, this is still a WIP (sorryyyy). It's almost completely written though, so I'm going to update every Monday until you have the full fic :) I hope you don't mind the wait and I wish you all the best for the next year!


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